Charred Pages at the Sunshine Cafe
by My Only Sunshine
Summary: Daine, a traveling artist with a secret, Numair, a proffesor at the local Ivy League college. At they just keep on bumping into each other...
1. Train Ride

**This story is entirely Sylvanius's and Tortalls Resident Witchchild's fault. I never would have even signed up with Fanfiction, but then I read their stories.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Daine or Numair, cause I don't believe in slavery, or sweatshops.**

The tall man sighed. At this slow rate, there was no way he would make it onto school property before the curfew. And as a professor, well, this did not look good.

_Why must we continue stopping?_ he mused. _It's not as if people actually are waiting to get on this train._

He sat up, trying to stretch out the kink in his neck. Trains simply were not made for 6-foot-five men.

The train shuddered to a halt at yet another stop. Surprisingly, a door opened. A girl, no, really a young women, stepped through the entrance. The professor leaned forward, curious as to who might be getting on the train at this late hour. He half expected her rosy, soft lips to open, quietly chiding herself for getting on the wrong train. She didn't.

Instead, she walked with the grace of a ballerina to the seat in front of him.

"You don't mind if I sit here, do you?" She asked in a melodic voice.

He shook his head, one corner of his mouth cocked up in a pleasant half-smile.

"I'm Daine," She continued.

"I'm Numair,"

She grabbed her bags then moved to sit next to him. Numair glanced at her, a question in his eyes.

She smiled and responded "It'd be rather awkward to have to sit backwards just to talk to you. Unless, of course, you don't want to talk." She gestured forward and said "If that's the case, I'll move back up."

"Oh no, I don't mind. So where are you going?"

"Haven't really thought about it. Where this train is headed, I guess. I take it that's where you're going?"

"Yes. I'm a professor at the college."

"Really. That sounds like . . . um, like fun."

"I do enjoy it, for the most part. I'm constantly learning new things, although I'm supposed to be the teacher."

Daine's face lit up with a huge smile, revealing white teeth. She relaxed into the back of the seat. After a few moments of silence, she reached into her bag and pulled out a CD player.

Numair stared out the window. He was oblivious to the scenery outside, but focused on a reflection in the smudgy glass. Daine appeared young, perhaps late teens or early twenty. Smoky grey curls fell to the bottom of her shoulder blades. Her eyes were entirely stormy-blue, large, with extravagant lashes. Numair had noticed her soft mouth earlier, and saw vulnerability in it. But her chin, stubborn in every way, denied any claims from her mouth. Daine wasn't very tall, but she looked so, her height offset by her modest curves and slenderness. Her jeans looked old, faded, torn at the knees and grass-stained. Her loose cami was covered by a knee-length corduroy coat.

The train jostled and slowly stopped. Numair picked up his bag. He offered to carry one of Daine's many bags, and she said accepted.

They hailed a cab. Numair helped load Daine's belongings into the back seat. In one fluid motion, she slid into the seat. Numair stepped back onto the curb, a millions things to say, but he did not know how to say them so he simply watched the yellow taxi fade into darkness.

**So, what do you think? Please r&r, though I'll probably update anyway.**


	2. Late Nights and Lost Journals

**I don't own Daine or Numair. **

**I feel like such a loser. I mean, I got the name of my muse of inspiration wrong. Dearest **Tortall's Resident Wildchild**, will you ever find room in your heart to forgive a lonely soul? Shall I dedicate a chapter to you? Perhaps create a character in your honor? Or something of your choosing?**

Daine would have been perfectly happy to look out the window and just think, but the jolly cabby would not allow it.

"Whereabouts are you heading, you miss?"

"Well, I don't rightly know. Do you know of a cheap motel where I could stay?"

"Sho' I do. Great l'il place, cheap as you please."

"But . . . is it, um . . . what I mean to say is that does it fit all the health regulations?"

"Oh yes. All the places round here are checked regularly. And this motel is a 10-minute walk to downtown."

"It sounds too good to be true. Please, take me there." Daine leaned her head against the seat and closed her eyes, willing herself not to fall asleep just yet.

The cabbie chattered on, talking of this and that.

* * *

Numair could barely keep his eyes open during the half-hour bus ride to the college. He nearly missed his stop, but with all the students getting off the bus, it would have been hard to.

Numair lugged his bags to the teachers' rooms. Shuffling whatever he carried, he somehow managed to unlock the door to room 14. Normally, he would have spent the night awake, unpacking and preparing for the first day of school – although it was more that two weeks away – but he felt tired, no, emotionally drained.

Though what exactly had happened in during the day to make him feel this way, he wondered. Unable to fall asleep in the crisp clean sheets, he went through a mental checklist.

_Waking up at three to catch the train, no._

_Seventeen hour train ride to this college, no._

_Meeting Daine on the train . . . no._ But even in his mind, the "no" did not sound certain. It was unsure of itself, maybe even a question.

_Arriving at college, with anxiety of new school-year, yes._ That must be it.

His mind made up, Numair relaxed. Finally, finally, as dawn showed pale pink on the white walls, the gears in Numair's mind slowed their whirling and he slipped into a deep sleep. But they did not stop turning.

* * *

Not so far away, on the other side of town, Daine was happily exploring the small apartment. It was by far the best she'd ever stayed in – _And I've stayed in a lot,_ she thought_ ­_– and the price was unbelievably low.

_That's one _clean_ bathroom with working appliances, a large kitchen, a living room with a fold-out bed in the sofa, and a bedroom with a Queen-sized bed! Wow, they sure now how to furnish a place around here._

But something was missing. Daine walked through the entire apartment two more times before she realized the there was no desk.

_Look, it's only a desk. I mean, you can write just as well on the kitchen table._ Daine thought furiously. But she knew it was not true. The kitchen table was too small, and she liked her papers to be spread out. _It will all work out. I _need_ it to all work out. Oh, lord, I have to write. I can't _not_ write. Oh lord oh lord oh lord._

Daine sat down on the couch. She put her head in her hands, curls tumbling to form a curtain around her features.

_A woman screaming, an old man's cracked voice yelling at someone, something? Flames rose high around the house, bursting window panes on the bottom floor, consuming all that Daine had ever known. She threw herself at the door, willing for it to open. The brittle wood splintered upon the light force of her slim form. A dark hallway, filled with smoke and flames. She ran to the window. The frame had swollen with the incredible heat, squeaking against searing hot wood. Panicking, she threw her journal at the fiery glass. It shattered. Daine leapt through, cutting herself on the broken shards. She fell, fell, fell two stories and landed on smoldering grass. Snatching her journal from the bite of sparks, she ran, hunched over, to protect her thoughts from becoming ash. She ran far into the woods, leaving behind the flaming shell of her life. Daine glanced behind only once, seeing the roof cave in, the shrill voices of her family coming to an abrupt halt. She ran, fast enough to be mistaken for the hesitant fawns, moving like the elusive wind._

Daine shivered, and acting on some . . . thought, she dug deep into her bags. She searched until dawn glowed pale on the horizon and her numb fingers accepted what her mind refused to: a small book, burnt on the corners, was no longer in her possession.

**Well, you know what to do! Please, r&r! And thank you all so much for your reviews. They, like, inspire me. I'd write without reviews, but with them, I think I'm better. I LOVE YOU ALL!**


	3. The Day Begins

**Okay, I fixed the last chapter.**

**- - - - - - - - - - is same character, but different sub-chapter**

**And I don't own Daine or Numair. Or anything else from Tamora Pierce's books.**

Daine woke in the fetal position. She gently stretched out her legs and arms, wincing as muscles, too long in one pose, came to life. It was not the first time she had slept on the floor, but it was undoubtedly the least peaceful. She had spent the night haunted by her family's faces, burned until they were hardly recognizable. Thrashing about, she had achieved knocking the leg off her coffee table.

_Lord,_ she thought as she examined the splintered leg, _Is this gonna cost something to fix. Might as well get started with the day._

Daine took a long, hot shower. She left her clothes, crumpled from being in her suitcase, dangle from hangers and the stream left then moist, but mercifully straightened. She opened the window and the door to let the steam float out as she brushed her teeth. A cool breeze, tantalizing as starry skies reflecting in dark water, wafted through, softly fluttering her sheer garments. Daine threw her head back, letting the reviving breath of air tempt her curls into a dance. Her scalp tingled with the chill.

All too soon, her neck began to ache. She tilted her head forward, and, after a still moment, let her towel fall and got dressed.

Daine put on a pair of pale-rosy cargo Capri's and a loose white top that did not quite meet the waistline of her Capri's. The neckline of her shirt fell five finger-widths below the hollow of her throat and the sleeves started at the corner of her shoulders and were three finger-widths. All in all, when paired with a hemp necklace, colorful multi-strand beaded bracelets and numerous silver rings, Daine hoped her appearance suggested the artistic talent she possessed, along with the interesting personality that might get her hired. She tucked the splintered leg into her corduroy bag and headed off, heart full of confidence.

* * *

Numair aroused after a short night of sleep, feeling worse for the wear. He stretched out his long form and fell out of bed.

_This does not look for a very good day,_ he thought.

Numair stepped into a cold shower and loudly swore. Over the length of the summer, he forgot that the college's hot water tank only held so much, and that many of the other professors's also enjoyed long, hot showers.

As fast as he could, while still managing to be clean, Numair stepped out of the shower, directly into a cold breeze that blasted through the open window. With blue toes, he wrapped a towel around his waist and stepped of the terrycloth mat onto the frosty tiles of his bathroom floor.

Through the extent of his wardrobe, all that was clean was a loose white shirt with a collar from the age of Keats and Shelley: cross-laced neck and outspread-Byron collar, a pair of dark blue jeans, and the "necessities." Grumbling to himself, he pulled the attire on. Checking in the mirror, he moaned aloud. He simply could not step out into public looking like he just returned from a poetry reading. He pulled a dark trench coat over everything. That changed the effect of his outfit to something that suited him a bit more.

_But there is no way I am walking through the halls in front of students-to-be dressed like this, _he thought. He gathered his clothes into a laundry bag, thinking of some way to get off campus and to the Laundromat. A plan began to form in his mind.

_Five minutes later_

Numair could not help but grin to himself as he strolled behind the buildings on campus. It was a juvenile plan, to climb out the window using a rope of sheets, but it worked. He had even made sure to lock the door so that no maids would enter and clean. And the rope . . . ? He had tied to so a chair and thrown in back inside through the open window.

* * *

_Of all the days to be full!_ Numair could not help but feel that the day would be like a roller coaster ride; full of ups and downs.

"Hm, dearie, by th'looks of things, this place'll clear out in a few hours or so. Now, honey, you jus' leave yo' bags wi' me, I'll take care of 'em,"

Numair obliged and walked out the door, a stormy look on his face.

He wandered around for a few minutes, frequently checking in at the Laundromat. The clerk's patience wore to a point so thin, so fine, that she shouted at him.

"Listen hear! If you stop by once more afore an hour's up, I burn yo' clothes! I'll burn 'em, sure as hellfire!"

He swiftly left the building.

**Since some of you were saying the chapters should be longer (and I really do appreciate the "constuctive criticism") I thought that I would give you two, COUNT 'EM, yes, _two chapters at once_! But that means it may be a bit of a longer wait for the next ones. Thank you all for your support! YOU GUYS ARE WICKED!**


	4. Hired, finally

"**Hello, I'm called My Only Sunshine,"**

"**Hi, My Only Sunshine,"**

"**And I'm here because, well, because I'm a fanfic-aholic and because I don't own Daine or Numair,"**

By noon, Daine was walking slower, her heart, so full of confidence only hours ago, was wilted like a plant with too little sunlight.

_I thought the cabby said something about jobs being easy to find downtown._ She thought. _Well, that's the last time _I_ believe him or any other cabdriver. I mean, didn't he call it a 10-minute walk downtown from my apartment? More like ten minutes short of an hour! And I don't have enough to pay to catch a taxi every day._

Dejected, she entered the nearest building, a small part of her mind praying that she was not about to embarrass herself by walking into a top-secret government meeting. Had she been her usual self, she would have been inspired to run all one-and-a-half miles back to her apartment at the sight of the picturesque cottage tucked so comfortably between skyscrapers.

The place was deserted inside, save for the commotion of noise from the kitchen. Even the space behind the cash register was vacant. Daine took a moment to let the indoors of the café settle into her mind. She loved it. The back was entirely windows, with a colorful carpet and huge armchairs. To the left was a display of various baked goods and pastries. The counter served also for the ancient cash register to relax on. The floor was tiled with small tables and matching chairs. The place had and atmosphere of poetry. Gentle music played in the background. Daine couldn't quite put her finger on it; it was elusive and haunting, melancholy and lonely, beautiful.

"Honey, did you want to stand in my doorway all day, or did you want something?"

Daine jumped out of her reverie. Momentarily puzzled, she spun her head side to side to locate where the deep, throaty voice was coming from.

A short, plump woman stood in the entrance to the kitchen. She wiped her floury hands on her stained apron, revealing their tan color. Dark curls fell to her shoulders, framing a face with deep-set, mysterious eyes, red lips and full cheeks.

"Um, well, I was, uh, walking and I, um, well I just kinda walked in here, not really paying mind to where I was headed."

The woman's sharp glare softened. "Listen, honey, I just put the pie in the oven. Come on into the kitchen, we'll talk."

Daine, not knowing exactly why she trusted this motherly figure, followed.

- - - - - - - -

Daine sat on the counter, sandals discarded in a small heap below her swinging legs. Owner/cook/cashier of the Sunshine Café Felicia was a charismatic woman who wouldn't let things stand in her way or people leave her kitchen without food.

"So, baby doll, you been here long?"

"Naw. I just got in last night. Checked into this motel on the other side of town. The cabby told me it was a 10-minute walk. Last time I trust one of them." Daine grinned broadly. Though she would admit it to no one, including herself, she secretly admired the way the cabby turned exaggeration into a form of art.

Felicia laughed, a rich sound in her belly, head thrown back, shoulders shaking. "You musta gotten ole Solomon. Never met an outta-towner he didn't lie to. Tell me, girlie, did you need a short walk to downtown for a reason?"

"Yeah, actually. I was hoping to get a job here that I could walk to. I don't want to pay to hear Solomon's lies _every_ day."

"You got a job yet?"

Daine shakily smiled, a shadow of her grin. "Not yet. But I've only been looking since this morning. I mean, some places got plenty of spaces available, but I'm just that particular. I want something that I have fun doing."

"What do you like, dearie?"

"Something where I meet people, maybe a kind of job that has built-in breaks, you know, slow times, so I can write or something,"

"Would a job as a, say, cashier-slash-cook-slash-pantry-stocker do it for you?"

Daine crossed one ankle over the other, oblivious to where the conversation was headed. "Yeah, that'd about do it."

"Honey? You're hired. Good thing, too. Only person on staff ever is me."

"Oh Felicia, thank you thank you thank you. Wait, you're serious, right?"

"Sweetie, I never been more serious in my life. I need you here."

"Thank you so much. This is just the place I'd love to work at. What exactly will I be doing?"

"Minding the cash register, baking a bit on in-between times, making sure the pantry is full. Now, I'm a picky person. The only place I ever buy any food is a two mile walk. See, it's organic, and that's always the best. And I buy it fresh, everyday. You know what I'm saying, honey?"

"Lord, Felicia, you are a lifesaver."

"Baby cakes, you're gonna be walking three miles to work and back everyday? Plus two miles both ways to that grocery place I like?"

"Yeah," Daine hadn't thought of this. _Lord, I'll be walking seven miles every day. I don't think I'm up for that. _"That's exactly what I'll be doing."

"Listen, girlie. I live just upstairs, and this place is a whole lot bigger than it looks. You can move into the back apartment. I usually rent it out to college kids, but here's my deal. You put in a few extra minutes, sweeping, wiping down tables, locking up and the suchlike, and the place is yours."

"Felicia, I couldn't do that to you. I mean, don't you need the money from the apartment?"

"Sugar, if it was money I cared about, I woulda sold this place as soon as I inherited it. Tell you what: you start today and I'll pay ole Solomon to help you move your stuff from there to here."

Daine leapt off the counter and smothered Felicia in a bear hug.

**Okay, the next chapter will be longer (I think). Also, I'm on break right now, so once school starts again, I won't update as often. Annnnnnnd, to ****GSCer, what I intended was that Daine's Grandda and Ma died in the fire. I'm not sure if that's kinda how it goes in the books. Anyone want to check? And to Tortall's Resident Wildchild, no, I haven't commented yet. but I plan on it. I almost never comment.**


	5. Silent Regulars and Talkative Cabbies

**My Only Sunshine does not own Daine or Numair. Yay for third person!**

**Lots of people thought that Daine's Ma and Grandda were killed by the bandits, and then they burned the house, but I didn't like the idea of such direct murder too much. So perhaps it will simply be that thing when people purposely set fire to something to get their point across. I don't think that will play a big part in the rest of the fic, though.**

"Now, honey, there's three basic times in the Sunshine Café: Art, Busy, and Relax. Busy is black to Relax's white. Art is every Saturday night; it's when local poets and suchlike come in and read. And, a course, we've got some in-between times, when the Busy crowd starts to trickle in." A bell tinkled. "That'd be about now. On weekdays, like today, we usually only have the regulars, there's around seven of 'em. I'll introduce you to 'em."

A fist rapped on the counter.

"I'll be there in a second, hon!" Turning toward Daine, Felicia lowered her voice. "That'll be l'il Tacey. She doesn't talk, least, that I know of. But be friendly an' try to act normal. She's hurtin' inside." Felicia strolled through into the café. Daine, head whirling, followed.

An hour later, Daine stood behind the cash register. During its busiest, the café not nearly half full. But, as Felicia had said, on Saturday night the place was so crowded, she often worried about exceeding the limit.

"Daine, honey, could you come here when you have a moment?" Felicia called from the noisy kitchen.

"Sure thing," Daine finished ringing up an order to go; from someone Felicia assured Daine was not a regular.

Daine pushed her way into the steamy kitchen. The mixture of scents, sweet, spicy, savory, made her mouth water.

"Sweetie, I forgot to tell ya, if there's nothing for you to do, go be a waitress. And if that still gives you nothing to do, talk to some of them. Tacey, especially. She likes being talked to."

Daine remembered how the regulars all just went to their tables and sat, waiting to be waited on. She liked the idea of being a waitress better than standing behind a cash register all day.

"Hey, Felicia, you want help with those pies?"

"No thanks, baby doll, I'm good. Just run along an' check on my favorite customers, will ya?"

Daine returned to the café. She glanced out the windows at the deserted sidewalk. No customers in sight. She turned and looked around at the regulars. All we deeply engaged in conversation with each other, some form of reading material or writing. All except Tacey, who was looking into her cup. Daine walked over.

"Honey?" she asked, already adapting Felicia way of talking. "Would you like some more of that?"

Large brown eyes met stormy blue. Daine felt her mood waver just looking at Tacey. She had straight dark hair with bangs. Her swarthy face was so full of sadness; it was seeping out from the large scar above her right eyebrow. She shook her head 'no' and returned to gazing at her mug. Daine pulled up a chair as she sat down, landing neatly. She smiled

"Hey, I'm Daine."

Tacey tilted her head up, oh so slightly, listening.

"I just came from out of town. Felicia great, isn't she?"

A nod. Was that a faint flicker of a smile? Encouraged, Daine continued.

"I'm staying at this little motel, maybe one or two miles from here. Ole Solomon directed me to it. He was right about the rate and the decency of it . . . but he mentioned something about a '10-minute walk to downtown.' But now that I've been hired, Felicia says she'll rent me the apartment upstairs. I'll be moving in tonight.'"

Tacey leaned forward, her eyes filled with a question.

"Would you like to help me move in?"

Another nod, and there was no mistaking the smile, quivery as it was. From the front of the café, a bell tinkled. Daine apologetically smiled at Tacey, and headed to the counter.

* * *

After leaving the Laundromat, Numair hailed a taxi. He awkwardly stooped and slid into the back seat; the front seat was occupied by whom he assumed to be the jovial cabby's daughter. 

"Whereabouts are you heading, sir?"

"Well . . . do you know of a little café, perhaps on the other side of town?"

"I sho' do." The cabby faced his daughter and said "People these days. If you want to be a cabdriver like me, and I doan' recommend this here job, you have to know the town like the back of your hand. People know where they want to be, but they don't know _where_, if you catch my meanin'."

Numair listened half-heartedly to the cabby's chatter. He shifted his feet from their initial cramped arrangement. His right foot bumped against something. Reaching down to grab it, he tried not to catch the attention of the cabby. His large hand closed on something rectangular and firm. Satisfied that it would not drop, he sat up quickly. The cabby's eyes flicked towards Numair in the review mirror then back to the road.

"Now, some people, they just can't sit still. Always bouncing around, making the driving hard on humble servants o' the public." The cabby continued in a long lecture to his daughter about etiquette when one is a passenger, admiration beaming from every one of her features.

_I suppose I am also expected to listen,_ Numair thought with a smile. He leaned back in his seat, for all the world hanging on to every word of his temporary chauffeur. Inside, however, his mind was spinning with thoughts of how to subtly glance at the object hidden from the mirror's view with sending the cabby into a sermon about how people "jus' doan' listen."

Mercifully, just before Numair could send his plot into action, the taxi abruptly stopped outside a two-story building. The structure looked extremely out of place squished between two brick skyscrapers, separated from the hustle and bustle of life by a garden, similar to the way an island is surrounded by water. In fact, it looked more like a country cottage, or perhaps a French bistro, was swept up and dumped in the middle of the city.

Numair ducked and scooted off the musty cab seat, leaving behind more than enough to cover cab fare and a generous tip. He paused in the middle of the road, finally able to study the object in his hand. It was a title-less book, he noticed, and then proceeded to flip though the slightly-yellowed pages. Handwritten; it was probably a journal. The corners were burned. A truck horn blared and Numair quickly leapt onto the sidewalk.

**I'm not one much for cliff-hangers, but I think I'll leave it at that. :D At the end of Daine's POV, that's Numair entering.**

**Devious Sorceress, you could not have paid me a higher compliment. Kudos for you! And I'm glad you like Felicia. I like her, too. I mean, like, if she was my employer, I'd be inspired to get up and do something!**

**Pinky: I think I'll give one to him. I mean, we can't let Daine have all the fun ((cough cough)) now, can we? And I do have something in mind for him.**

**Lady Knight 1512: I hope it doesn't bother you if Daine and Numair are OOC. But if it means you'll keep reading, I'll try to get them into character.**

**Eth: Thank you!**

**Tortall's Resident Wildchild, and Pinky: Thank you both for continuing to review!**

**GSCer: What exactly did you not like? I can try to eliminate that kind of thing in the future. Or did you simply "not like it?"**

**Right, so, I was in the shower (my inspiration sanctuary) and now I actually sorta have a plot! So this story may go somewhere in particular (not that going nowhere is not acceptable).**

**And I must thank you all soooooooooooooooooo much for the reviews. It's very encouraging!**


	6. Promises and Parks

**I own nothing, except Felicia and Tacey and Ole Solomon. Well, I own everything except for Daine and Numair and anything you might otherwise recognize from Tamora Pierce's books.**

**Since I haven't updated in a while, I forget if any of you guys had questions or needed something clarified or suchlike, so just ask again . . . umm, yeah, that's all.**

Daine slid behind the counter as the customer walked up to her. The sun was behind him and shadow fell over his face. _He seems familiar, do I know him?_ She wondered.

"Um, hello," the man spoke in a slightly hesitant baritone, pleasant to listen to.

A beam of light wiggled out from a cloud, falling neatly across his face. Daine took a step back. He was _very_ familiar. She smiled cautiously, not wanting to appear unfriendly to a person she already knew. "Numair, hello. I hadn't expected to see you again."

Numair's shoulders relaxed as he smiled. "Daine, what a wonderful surprise. I had no idea you worked here."

"Oh, I just got the job today. Do you come here often? Felicia didn't mention you."

"No, this is my first time coming to the café. Is there anything you would recommend?"

"Most people here just get the specials of the day. I haven't tried anything yet, but if I was going to, I'd probably go for the Chocolate Sin Torte – that'd be flourless chocolate cake flavored with spices and nuts – and the Cinnamon-cocoa. We're just passing Busy, so if you want that, you're gonna have to wait for Felicia to bake it. Nothing takes too long, maybe a half-hour."

"That's perfectly fine. I'll go sit and wait." Numair thought of the Laundromat with a wry grin. He wondered whether the clerk would be delighted or furious if he didn't show up until closing time. And of course, there was the journal. He knew he shouldn't read it, but it looked sentimentally valuable. Perhaps by reading it he could discover the writer. He shook his head nearly imperceptibly. No matter what he thought, he could never truly justify this act of invasion of privacy to himself. Lord knew he had his own secrets. _But I mustn't think of that. I swore I would never remember that . . . _He walked to the back of the room and sat in a corner near a window, far from any other patron.

Tacey's eyes followed the tall silhouette since he entered the café. He seemed familiar. He sat down with the same grace as . . . someone she had known well. Oh g0d, why couldn't she find the name? She knew it was important, but why? Why?

"Felicia!" Daine called as she parted the swinging doors to the kitchen. "Felicia, new customer!"

Felicia looked up from the floury counter, hands white. Working in such a hot room made her closed-mouthed.

Daine felt self-conscious looking into Felicia's eyes. They were a shocking shade of gold-speckled leaf-green, and gave Daine the same feeling of wonder and awe as when she looked at a moss-covered tree, hunched with age. She gulped and fiddled with her hands. "Um, yeah, and he, uh, he would like the, uh, cocoa with cinnamon and the devil chocolate tart." Wincing, Daine realized how she stumbled over the words and frantically searched for the items Numair had ordered.

Felicia stared, the corners of her mouth turning down ever so slightly. Then her eyes sparkled with realization, and she tried not to smile. "He, you say? Honey, just who is 'he'?"

"Oh. No, it's just this guy I met on the train over here. Nothing, nothing at all." She tried to relax.

"Mm-hm baby, I believe you. And did you mean the Chocolate Sin Torte and the Cinnamon-cocoa by any chance?"

Daine smiled in relief. "Yes, yes of course. Whew, is it hot in here? I think I'll open a window."

"Sure sweetie. Listen, you wanna go for a walk? I don't need you right now."

Daine hesitated. It was very tempting, but how would it look to take time off on her first day?

"Honey? Why don't you go?"

Daine didn't need to be told twice. She left out through the back.

Once outside, she leaned against the stucco wall and gasped for air. She tapped her head back against the wall, letting gentle pain fill her instead of . . . that other thing, whatever it was, that make her nerves hum the way they were. She slipped out of her shoes and ran with long loping strides of someone with much practice.

Numair set the book on the table. He stared at, swarthy hands softly cupping the sides. The cover was an olive green fabric, with cream highlights when the sun hit it just the right way. Small rose-pink buds sewn on it in a random pattern, little more than large knots marring the cloth. There was a border of cream, dancing around two centimeters from the edge, however, the flower pattern continued across the spine and back cover. He lifted the cover, stiff binding cracking, just the way being crushed under clothes at the bottom of a duffel bag would make it. On the inside cover was spidery writing. "Sunshine, for your thoughts and dreams and memories of your teen years. I promise you I'll visit again soon. Never ever forget I love you." Numair closed the book. Reading those few words felt like stealing someone's happiness. It was completely wrong.

Daine sprinted until each breath was an icy wind trailing down her throat. She slowed and looked around at her surrounding. To her left was a park. She strolled inside. The sounds of children screaming met her ears. She walked around, over a bridge and though a tall stone entrance.

It was a theatre, with pine trees, and grass for chairs. The stage was stone with round towers on either side. Daine lay down on the gentle incline, her hair fanning out behind her. She closed her eyes against the warm sunlight, and soon was asleep.

Felicia hummed to herself as she took the chocolate sin torte out of the oven. It had been a long time since she had had and company in this café; even a place as small as this one felt infinitely huge with no one else in it.

"Daddy!" Daine stirred gently in her sleep. The shriek came again. "Daddy! There's a dead girl on the grass!" Daine shot up and wondered where she was. Glancing around, she slowly recalled what happened earlier that day. To judge by the cool air and watery sunlight, it was close to the evening. She tried to remember the way back to the café as a tiny girl crept over and sat next to her, staring. With another shriek, this time of joy, she was swept into the air by her father. Daine jumped out of the way of the swinging child.

"Sorry about that," the man apologized. "Chloe hasn't yet learned the difference between death and sleeping." A shadow crossed over his face, but passed quickly.

"It's fine. Really. I needed to wake up." She paused, and cursed her shyness. after a few moments, just as the man was about to turn away, a suddenly exhausted child in his arms, she blurted out, "Do you know how to get to the Sunshine Café from here?"

"Yeah. We're headed in that direction ourselves. It a half hour walk and then a bus ride." He shifted Chloe and started walking. Daine followed, watching Chloe's blond curls spill on his shoulder. Her blue eyes were only partly closed, and Daine felt as if the child was not really asleep, as if she was carefully scrutinizing Daine with a practiced, but beautifully innocent eye.

**I was trying to think of the right way to describe the journal, but all I could imagine was this. I hope I didn't kill anyone's images. Obviously, think of the journal any way you want.**

**And yes, I realize how messy this is. Hopefully I'll be back on track for the next chapter. Thanks for putting up with me!  
**


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